


Armitage Alone

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Armitage Hux Has Issues, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Awkward, Daddy Issues, Denial of Feelings, Diary/Journal, General Hux Alone, General Hux leaves the First Order, Gingerpilot, Inexperienced, Lost - Freeform, M/M, POV Armitage Hux, POV First Person, Regret, Slow Burn, Space Wanderer, Vagabond, Vagrant, afraid, angry, confused, insecure, lonely, virgin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I try not to think about it, what I have done – what I have lost.  When they look at me I do not know how to meet their gaze. I do not want to fight them, I do not want to seem weak. I feel trapped, yet this fear is better than something else, something slow and nauseating that comes when I am alone and no danger is there to distract me, no thought of survival. The weight of loneliness. I wonder if it will still haunt me now, or if it will be my shame that takes its place.[What happens to General Hux after he leaves the First Order, setting out into a world of chaos. A journal style series of memories from Armitage Hux's POV as he escapes with nothing but the clothes on his back, afraid of what the future will hold for him.]
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	1. The Isle of Lost Hope

My leg throbs painfully as I weave past the crowds, running, running as fast as I am able to move. It feels as though every second is taking me further away from the past and this is the final gate, the point of no return. The ship is taking off and I grab hold of the arm of a stranger, pulling me onboard the third-class compartment.

I catch my breath, leaning against the wall and holding onto the cold metal rail. Figures slouch in the shadows of the chamber on rags laid out upon the floor, the smell of sweat, urine and something rotten circulating through the musty air. Somewhere, I hear the wailing of a child and the voices of men huddled in a circle, chattering vehemently in an unfamiliar tongue. One of them rummages into his pocket for a small leather pouch containing some kind of herb. He spits something out on the floor, I look away.

My throat feels dry and my stomach churns as I think about where I am, where I am going. I wish that I had water, but I have nothing. I close my eyes against the strange faces which all seem to stare at me. I wish that I had disposed of the uniform, marking me out conspicuously among the motley lot of forlorn and desperate characters. Do they think that I am an imposter, a deserter – I pray that none there know me, grateful that my duties had isolated me from the outside world beyond the First Order. I realize then my inexperience, it has been so many years since I have seen the chaos of society with my own eyes. After masquerading for so long, will my learning and facades help or hinder me, I wonder. 

These others, these filthy beings that surround me, I imagined them as the pathetic tribe to which I now belong. Wayfarers, mercenaries and scavengers. I wish to find them endearing – they are sincere and unabashed with their emotions, their despair and exhaustion plainly written upon their faces. But I cannot look past their ugliness, I know that they would not welcome me amongst them, if they knew who I was. Do I hate them because I believe that they would hate me – it does not matter, I will keep silent, keep out of the way, and hope that I will escape this. Each day that I am spared is a day that I have cheated death.

Quickly, I pull off my coat, then my tunic and roll them up into a bundle. My skin is soon covered in goosebumps from the cold and I feel like an idiot standing there in my undershirt, trying to hold on as the ship rocks to and fro. The tribulation passes after a few minutes and I let go of the railing, sitting down on the ground upon the bundle of clothes, wondering if I should keep it, throw it out or try and sell it. I have no money and I wonder if I would rather beg or steal my next meal. These thoughts disgust me.

I see a face sneering down at me in contempt, is it that of my father –or myself, I do not know. I am no longer General Hux, but Armitage. It has been so long since anyone had called me by that name, only I remember it whenever I feel weak. I imagine someone will call me by that name in weakness, kissing me or kicking me and I pray for that now in the depths of my heart. In the darkness of the ship I pull my knees close to my chest and bury my face in my crossed arms. I remember, long ago, I hid in a storage room crying, crouching in the dark just like this, only now I am not crying. It feels as though all of the tears had dried up long ago. When I am off this ship and completely alone, then I will do it. It feels so strange, to plan it, yet I crave emotional release, to be weak, to not need to pretend. It is the gift of those who have nothing left.

I try not to think about it, what I have done – what I have lost. When they look at me I do not know how to meet their gaze. I do not want to fight them, I do not want to seem weak. I feel trapped, yet this fear is better than something else, something slow and nauseating that comes when I am alone and no danger is there to distract me, no thought of survival. The weight of loneliness. I wonder if it will still haunt me now, or if it will be my shame that takes its place.

The man who had taken my arm, I do not know if he recognizes me. I do not recognize him. I feel afraid; concentrating on the sound of the engine, I try to relax my mind, not to think, but I was never good at meditation. I know that it will be a long time before I am able to sleep again, the deep sleep of those whose conscience does not vex them with doubts.

I think of Kylo Ren. My father. The First Order – everything that I had worked towards. I began as nothing, as no one -- and to that I have returned. I feel certain that I will be dead soon, that it was futile to try and run from it. Yet that animal instinct for self-preservation has led me here, heading towards I know not what.

A man in a uniform made his way through the compartment, checking tickets. I have no money, no ticket. I feel a panic rush over me. I feel the ship descending – the first stop. There is a stirring within, some yelling. I move towards the door, following close after the woman with the baby and a fat man in a soiled gray jumpsuit. He looks at me and sneers. I do not know what he sneers at.

The doors of the ship open with a rusty screech, I feel arms pushing forcefully against my back as people try to get out. The guards step aside and I clamber out, trying to get out of the way. I see dark corridors leading out of the landing bay, marked in a foreign script that I can not make out. I choose one, clutching the bundle of clothes against my chest.

I notice a row of junk sellers sitting on rugs, one of them is playing some kind of flute, the repeating notes attracting children to jars of neon colored candies. I approach one of the vendors, surrounded by four hunch-backed woman rummaging through large hills of old clothing. I hesitate and then hold out the tunic in front of him. He grabs it with his dirty fingers and feels the fabric, but really he is looking at me the entire time, he knows what kind of tunic it is. I say nothing and he says nothing. Then, he pulls out a couple of coins from is vest and throws them on the floor in front of me. I bite my lip and stoop to pick them up. I know that I must swallow my pride, I must get use to it, if I want to live. And when I stop wanting to live, I will try to make sure that my last day is not wasted.

Having sold the coat and tunic, I buy a gray long sleeved shirt and some gruel from the food stall of a hag. Everything here is hideous and only depresses me further, I think of getting out of the tunnels as quickly as possible. I swallow down the gruel and return the bowl, counting the coins that I have left. I imagine being the slave of a cruel master, and then, a kind master. To have clean clothes and only one person to please, as I have grown accustomed to. I will try to find work, as a mechanic perhaps, I hope that no one will find me here. I know that I will indulge in fantasies, of being saved, of being shown mercy, I think of the Resistance, if I should go to them – I cannot bring myself to do it, not yet. They will use me and then destroy me for what I have done. Deserters among the lower ranks may be forgiven as merely obeying orders out of fear, yet a general of the First Order will not be shown mercy – I must banish false hopes and come to terms with my fate.


	2. The First Class Express

The tunnel led towards a terminal where guards were stationed, scanning documents and taking individuals aside for an identity scan. I watched from a distance as one of them grabbed hold of a sallow-skinned man and held his chin so that he gaped like a fish, the other guard holding him still. His gloved hands pulled at the contours of the face, stretching the skin horribly, and passing some kind of scanner that seemed to dissolve it. Suddenly, it were as if the face was melting right off around the edges, its details becoming blurred, until it looked like a porcelain mask, revealing another face underneath, much younger and unmistakeably different from the first. The man was taken away to another chamber, likely for interrogation.

I did not wish to take my chances, my odds at bypassing security being not what I had hoped them to be. One of the guards met my gaze, causing me to quickly look away. I felt foolish at obeying this instinct, lingering there a few moments longer and then pushing my way back towards the crowd that was lining up, ushered like cattle by shouts and long metal tazers. Another guard tried to stop me and I regretted having entered so close to the screening checkpoint, only I had to figure out what I would be up against. I told him that I was looking for my son, and to my surprise, he let me go.

Frustrated, I retraced my steps, entering the other corridors one after the other, scanning the floors, walls and ceilings for ventilation shafts. This was of course a very primitive and risky plan, but I could think of no other, except perhaps trying to board another ship and hope for better at the next port. I followed a putrid smell into one of the tunnels, there men and women lined up on opposite sides, the men’s line being two thirds shorter. I had heard of such escapes being made, through the septic system, but this was something I hoped to reserve for my most desperate, pleased to see instead that there were several large ventilation shafts further down the tunnel. With the size of the crowd I could not remove the gratings discreetly.

I loitered among the vagrants near the loading docks, leaning against the wall and looking at the clock as I cracked open nuts from a paper bag. My father’s knife glistened in my hand and I felt an unpleasant sensation as I held it by the cold mental handle, it were as though the spirit of the past could see me more clearly then, yet at the same time, I was reminded of my own will, that which had sustained me in my struggle to survive since I was a youth.

Hours passed and the traffic of people and ships became much less than it had been when I first exited the ship, approaching the red eye shifts of early morning. I got up, brushing the shells from my lap and hiding the knife in a slot within my boot. Returning to the latrine tunnel, I looked around, finding only a few people there. I waited for them to close the door behind them and then set to work frantically at undoing the grate. It was rusted and loose, coming off easily, and I felt a rush of adrenaline as I removed it and clambered inside, trying to readjust it behind me just at the sound of a door opening.

The chamber was dark and I had no flashlight to light my way. I tried to feel about, hearing the sound of vermin or some kind of small creature moving out of the way in the shadows at my unexpected approach. I felt cobwebs and dead insects against my skin, gritting my teeth at the churning in my stomach. Then I came to a barrier and felt about with my hands. It was some kind of machinery, perhaps to improve the air circulation, but it had long ago broken down. I positioned myself to be able to kick it aside with my boots, driving it off its hinges, and was able to squeeze past it in the gap that was made. The tunnel took an upward turn, spanning several floors. There was little to hold onto. I felt more acutely as if I were suffocating, the walls of the damp claustrophobic chamber pressing up against me. I closed my eyes, trying to focus, trying to fight it. Swallowing hard, I prepared myself for the climb, using my legs to wedge myself up the precarious ventilation shaft. My limbs trembled from the effort, not knowing how long I could sustain it. My footing slipped as I tried to adjust myself and I was sent hurtling downwards, sending a sharp pain through my spine.

Tears welled in my eyes as I considered the hopeless, foolish endeavour. What choice did I have. I debated whether I should try and climb back out, but I was just as afraid that someone would see me and call the guards, then it would all be over for me. I sat there for some time, thinking. When I dragged myself onwards again, it was with the courage of desperation, attempting to climb again. Again I felt my limbs close to giving way. I urged myself a bit further, stretching my arm towards a perpendicular tunnel. I gripped onto the sharp edge and tried to haul myself up with my remaining strength.

This passageway was much larger and I followed it until it came to another metal grate. I tried to kick it loose but it would not give way. Afraid to make too much noise, unable to see anything except a white wall on the other side, I used my knife to pry the attachments. I was able to pry it open, listening for a sound, and then cautiously climbing out. It was an empty corridor.

I replaced the grating and went left. There was a door that I was able to easily unlock, leading to a lobby. Men in gray overalls stood smoking as they waited for the lift. I closed the door and hid behind it, waiting until the elevator arrived and left with the two men. Then I ran out and called for the lift, sweat dripping down my temple as my eyes darted between the three doors which met at this intersection. At last the elevator door opened. There was a technician droid standing within, pushing some kind of food trolley. I took careful aim with the blade and lowered it upon the ground, using its hand to select the button for the rooftop floor.

I stuffed the droid into the waste compartment of the trolley, divesting it of its apron which I hastily put on before the elevator doors slid open once more. I forced an idiotic smile, feeling nauseous as I walked purposefully onto another platform past figures I could only dimly see, avoiding their faces. I saw a busy platform, even more crowded than the loading docks, and there waited a snake-like transport vehicle consisting of dozens of attached compartments. I took a chance and headed straight for it, the restless passengers making way as I hauled the trolley up a ramp, the doors sliding closed behind me with a hiss. Once onboard, I pulled off the apron and abandoned the cart, blocking the hallway. I walked into the washroom, grabbing a long thin bag from the luggage rack, and closed the door behind me as a man with a dark mustache yelled in an unfamiliar tongue. Guards struggled to pull the trolley out, jammed in the narrow passageway which led to the first class compartment.

In the bag I found a dark blue dress coat and put it on, waiting until the train started moving before I stepped out. Someone banged aggressively against the door. I splashed water onto my face and tried to smooth down my hair. I saw several bottles of hand creams, colognes, and beauty serums lined up near the sink from a vending machine, but it seemed that no payment was required. I took a bottle at random and sprayed it on my shirt, feeling a bit ridiculous but wishing to mask the scent of one who had not the opportunity to bathe in several days. 

I opened the door, gazing contemptuously at the guard as I strode out into the hall towards the isle of seats. He looked abashed and did not endeavour to stop me. I did not think that something so naive would work. I found an empty seat and suddenly the corridor went dark, the transport vehicle accelerating at an impressive speed as it veered out of the tunnel over what seemed to be stretches of desert illuminated by three floating moons. I removed the coat, hiding it under my seat, and stared out the window. I felt exhausted but I dared not fall asleep, trying to keep my eyelids open by focusing on the silhouette of a city somewhere in the distance.


	3. Behind the Glass

I was startled as a droid pulled out a table from the wall of my cabin and began setting down an array of miniature dishes, paired with elaborate eating instruments, which slid about slightly with the turbulence of the vehicle. I waited until the droid left before beginning to dissect something that looked like a clam, stabbing the black tentacles and pincers which were starting to creep out from a gold-lacquered shell.

Chewing out the flavor of ginger, lemon and fish, I continued to look out the window, thinking of the pain in my leg. The sky was pitch black and I could not make anything out. I drank much from the fresh water dispenser to clear the dryness in my throat and then struggled with whether I should risk leaving the compartment to visit the lavatory. In the end I was too wary to attempt it until absolutely necessary, listening to the muffled speech of voices outside had put me on edge, perhaps amplifying the danger that I would be met with. I wondered how I would do against two guards, three...four. I considered their weapons and their training, knowing little of the region or the destination where I was headed, my estimates were vague and insufficiently reassuring. I also considered if I was not becoming overly paranoid.

Instead of perusing these unpleasant thoughts further, I turned my attention to a spider-like creature trapped beneath a glass dome, its bright blue pincers scratching against the glass in a futile effort to get out. I tried to ignore the similarity between our situations as shadows passed by the tinted window of the compartment where I sat, wondering when my audacity would be discovered. My eyes flickered over the tools available to me, reminding me greatly of the surgeon’s operating table as they glistened upon the white tablecloth.

I chose a long miniature spear and lifted the glass dome with one hand, quickly stabbing the creature through the center of its spiked round shell. I felt a black slimy fluid drip down my cheek, disgustingly warm. I wiped it away with a napkin, grimacing as the legs of the crabspider convulsed for a minute or so, and then pried upon the shell.

I battled my way through the rest of the meal, my hunger being such that I was forced to overcome any preferences of taste. After an hour, the droid returned to carry away the dishes, placing them on a large tray and leaving me with a slim box about a foot wide containing several small compartments. I waited for the droid to leave and then opened the glass lid, releasing a sweet smell, like caramel or vanilla.

Within were miniature figurines in the shape of beasts and flowers, intricately moulded, painted, and glazed. I cut one open and a thick syrup poured out which I tasted with upon my fingertip. Its sweet sour taste reassured me and I proceeded to eat three more, wrapping the rest in a napkin and placing them in a pocket where I hoped they would not be crushed.

The droid returned for the last time with a brass tea kettle and poured for me. My hunger satiated, I leaned back against the plush seat and closed my eyes for a moment, sighing deeply. The cabin was comfortable and warm, tempting me to lie down upon the cushions. Again I gazed vacantly at the inky blackness outside the window as my eyes grew heavy. I slapped my face hard, trying to rouse myself, my skin tingling with the mild sense of pain.

...

A hairy hand was shaking me roughly, followed by another slap of a gloved hand, much harder than the last.

I gasped, my eyes opening upon the sight of two abominable creatures covered from head to foot in hair, one male and the other apparently female. They made high pitched guttural sounds at me, waving their arms in protest. The female bared her teeth at me, sharp and pearly white between grotesquely painted scarlet lips. I realized then that I had fallen asleep and must now disentangle myself from this nightmare.

In a panic, I pushed past them and scrambled out of the compartment, making apologetic gestures and bowing as I tried to make my way backwards to the end of the corridor, remembering the coat just in time. I slipped it on, when a man with a beard that moved like tentacles also made offensive signs at me, summoning the guard and pointing with a bloodthirst in his eyes.

The guards, who also had drifted into sleep, were slow in coming, and so he took matters into his own hands by grabbing at the coat and trying to pull it off me so that it threatened to tear. I relinquished it before this could happen and pushed my way out past the groggy men who fumbled to find their weapons. Knowing that I would be trapped and captured if I remained onboard, I held my breath in horror as I opened the door – a gust of wind nearly sending me backwards.

The yelling behind me grew louder and a felt a kick to my backside, sending me falling several meters downward, my face slamming against the dirt and my knee colliding painfully with something sharp as I rolled down a low gravelly hill. I wiped off my bloody nose and tried to pull myself up, watching the train hurtle away, hovering over the ground as if upon invisible rails. I gazed after it until it was nothing more than a ribbon of glistening lights. Brushing off my clothes, I looked more carefully about me. I saw not too far away that there was a village of some kind and the rays of moonlight reflected upon a large lake surrounded by reeds and fishing docks. I trudged towards it, trying to make myself believe that things were not as bad as they seemed.

During the hours of darkness, I approached the water, casting several stones in to see if there was anything there that might stir, before stripping off my clothes and stepping into the pond to wash myself. The water was icy cold but in a way it served to soothe my nerves, overcoming the initial premonition that something would grab me through the slimy rocks at the bottom. Wading through, I felt my skin prickle with goosebumps, submerging my head and passing my fingers through greasy ginger hair. I relished the feeling that I would be clean of the sweat and dirt of the journey, imagining what it would be like if I could escape to some isolated isle where no man could reach me, where I would obey no orders but my own, living by my instincts. I wondered if I was drawing ever closer to becoming some kind of feral being, by my growing aversion to society, knowing that there was no place where my presence would be welcome except in abandoned wilderness in the hour of night. I swam further in the dark waters, growing bold and reckless, but nothing touched me except for the long tendrils of plants which rippled and swayed about my ankles.

I washed my clothing against the rocks and then sat shivering on one of the wooden docks, waiting for my body to dry. The night was relatively warm and not unpleasant, this was perhaps the first peaceful moment that I had since...I do not remember when. I had long ago decided that it was best not to think of the past or make comparisons. I could not go back ,there was only forward.

I laid down, using my damp clothes for a pillow, and looked up at the stars – the sky was clear and I could see hundreds, glistening like a scattered garland of distant lights. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, laying there naked under the starlight, imagining for an instant that some beast would come out of the shadows and drag my body into the water, yet somehow this felt impossible. This moment of happiness was mine, when I felt completely alone in the world, untouchable. When there was neither past nor present nor future. I reached out for the dagger and for a moment I contemplated how it would feel to die there, to cease to struggle, but I did not do it. I could not. Whether it was cowardice or hope, I do not know.

I watched the stars for some time longer and then sat up to dress myself, curling up in a patch of dry grass surrounded by reeds. The air grew colder and I heard the sound of cicadas. Something rustled the long stems a few feet away from me, rousing my fear once more, but it was only a bird. I could see its black outline clearly, searching for insects. I closed my eyes again, I had to get rest if I wished to keep going.


	4. Apes and Dogs

Five or six dogs walked after me in a pack as I made my way towards the village, their large size and arched mangy bodies sending an unpleasant feeling down my spine. I looked back at them from time to time only to see their black eyes staring back at me, red drooling tongues lolling idly out of their maws as they panted at my footsteps. We kept a level distance from each other, neither coming too close nor lagging far behind the hour or so that we wound our way past stunted trees and rubble.

I did not know how I felt about acquiring this unlikely entourage but there seemed to be little chance of shaking it off.

It was still early but some of the villagers were stirring from their abodes, not caring to mask their interest as they saw a stranger upon the main road followed by ‘his’ hounds. I avoided making eye contact and walked briskly on, not certain where I was headed, driven only by an impulse not to stay too long in any one place.

Somewhere in the distance I could make out what looked like large rocky gray hills, yet as I approached them, I saw that they were mounds of metal parts. Legacy model droids and children, or perhaps the men of some diminutive race, were rummaging through them, putting pieces into large white bags. I paused at the foot of one of these hills and scanned for anything of use. I saw the outer casing of an energy core of excellent quality, a kind that had long been discontinued after the manufacturer had been assassinated by competitors, his production plants taken over. This specimen was likely fully depleted but I reached out for it anyways to examine it closely, when a loud siren suddenly broke out.

The droids and the small people all began to move towards me. Some sniffed the air and others ran for me straight away, locking into my position with their sensors, I saw that the faces of the scavengers were not those of children but horribly wrinkled; green cat-like eyes focused upon me as they leapt over the rubbish with uncanny agility. I abandoned the energy core and ran down an alleyway, my leg beginning to ache again. I heard growling, barking and wining behind me but did not pause to look back.

I saw a toll gate up ahead. Not caring where it led, I offered up some small change and was allowed to pass through after a slouching man carrying a tower of paper boxes upon his back. I fought the urge to push him forward as he stopped to pick up one of the fallen parcels.

Finally inside, I stood panting, my chest heaving, my hands upon my knees as I tried to catch my breath. For some strange reason I remembered the dogs, observing that they were nowhere in sight. I wondered if it was they who had fought off the attackers which I had provoked by my contemplated theft. I decided to believe that this was true and was then struck by the wretchedness of many of the figures that I had so far encountered, whose struggle for survival was such that they were prepared to give their lives for a mound of junk, or perhaps it was merely that the life of a stranger was worth less than that, and their certainty of bringing down their victim had been overzealous.

I had arrived at another transport platform. Wandering around for some time, I found a sign indicating that a ‘slow’ type BNK303 vehicle was departing in a few hours. I saw a boy and a girl of about fifteen climb on top of it. I followed them, surprised to see a somewhat familiar face there – the fat man in the gray overalls that I had seen onboard the ship. I wondered if he was following me, but this seemed unlikely. He seemed to recognize me too, for he grinned at me, showing the gaps between his yellow teeth, giving him the look of an ogre. I turned away and proceeded to peel open an energy bar, cloying and sticky.

The boy and girl were staring at me too. Their faces were humanoid except for their harelip mouths and long dangling earlobes and a somewhat blue tinge to their skin, freckled with clusters of black. Their heads were both shaved completely bald, giving them the semblance of twins, except that one wore a smock dress of faded orange fabric while the other had on pants and a tunic. I finished the energy bar quickly, feeling uncomfortable at being started at. I had to get over this paranoia that I was being hunted or I would go mad, perhaps.

Finally, a whistle sounded and I could hear gears turning somewhere within the great rambling machine which clanked and buzzed into life. Mechanical legs stretched out from tunnel-like compartments while men in uniform holding oil canisters ran spraying the joints amid shouts from their conductor. Then, like some giant centipede, the massive contraption pushed itself off the ground with its spindly legs, breaking out into a kind of clumsy trot, and then levelled off to a moderate steady speed across desert and rocky terrain. I held on tightly onto a handle, closing my eyes as sand was dashed against my face, wondering where I was headed and if I ought to have just stayed in the first village, especially as an hour or so passed by without a stop along the journey.

All of a sudden, the contraption turned sharply and the girl’s small body was sent skidding over the edge of the smooth metal surface. Her brother gripped her hand with all of his strength, just in time, the other hand holding onto a metal door hinge. Carefully, I crept closer, trying to keep a hold while I stretched out my arm to them. The boy looked at me with wide eyes and then swung the arm of his sister so that she could reach for me. With our combined strength, we were able to pull her up. We both held her for the rest of the journey. A few times one or the other tried to say something to me but I could not make it out, the howling of the wind drowning out their strange twittering dialect.

I do not know what motivated this act of kindness for me, for the lives of these people was no concern of mine. I remember feeling in that instance of danger how morbid it would be to see the girl crushed under the metal spider legs, something that seemed to affect me more than the destruction of planets. How puzzling my nature was to me, even then. Perhaps it was the growing sense of isolation that had stirred my sympathies for the weak, as individuals, the impulse which also prevented me from looking others in the eye as if I carried some insurmountable shame. It had been a long time since I spoke to anyone, I realized. Looking out into the desert, I imaged what would happen if I let go of the handle keeping me atop of the machine.

When at last the train came to a stop, the two teenagers tried to clamber down, not even waiting for a chance when no one was looking. With more caution, I followed them out onto the platform, not knowing where I was or where to go. The boy waved at me to come with him and after some hesitation, I proceeded after him, in some way reassured by the smiling goodwill of these strangers. The girl had already been met by a stout elderly woman in a brown headscarf, her arms wrapping around the elder’s spindly legs in a manner of greeting. The youth took me by the hand and boldly led me towards them, I felt some nervousness but of a pleasant kind as the woman eyed me quizzically with her small yellow eyes.

They spoke amongst themselves in a fast twittering dialogue, reminding me of a flock of sparrows, but their faces seemed happy and they looked back to check on me from time to time as I trudge along the dirt path behind them, leading to a village of cavern-like huts built out of a ruddy colored clay. Smoke issued from the chimney hole of thatched roofs, wafting the scent of cooked meat and spices. I was led to one of these houses, musty and dim on the inside, smelling of rotten vegetables. I tried not to show any negative emotions, keeping my face vacant and passive.

The old woman set to work at rousing the embers of the hearth to a blazing fire while I stood near the doorway, debating whether or not I ought to be there. They did not seem to mind my presence, ignoring me almost, as they set about filling a great cauldron with water and limp vegetables. Tired of standing, I sat down close to the fire.

From the corner of my eye, I saw that the girl calling to me, beckoning me into a room where she and her brother sat before a dirty mirror. It was a kind of dressing room where pots and trays were filled with colored pastes. I did not know what I was supposed to do but I obeyed them, feeling tried and submissive.

They had me sit down upon a flat cushion with green tassels, the girl making some efforts to communicate with me, but I could not recognize the dialect of their kind. It seemed that she was growing irritated or affronted by my unresponsiveness so I forced a stupid smile. She smiled back with her ugly harelip mouth, and yet there was something endearing in the naive kindness which I took to be sincere. I remembered then the sweets in my pocket and took out the napkin. Some of them had been crushed, the gooey innards making my hands sticky, yet I took out several that were still intact and offered them to the girl. The brother, who had been watching and listening all the while, turned too. They both sat around my cushion eating when a towering man in a muddy green tunic walked in, his boots dripping dirty water onto the floor.

A chattering broke out, into which the old woman joined in, everyone talking at once, and I could tell that they were talking about me. Two more woman peered their heads out of the chamber across from ours, they had human faces that were heavily made up, their hair dressed in the manner of courtesans. They looked me up and down and then their heads disappeared again, the door quietly closing. A black monkey had slipped out while they had been surveying the cause of the commotion. I watched it spring up onto the kitchen countertop and open earthenware jars one by one, sticking its long fingers in and pulling out a prune which it sucked between its fangs. The old woman followed my gaze and made a shriek, making after the monkey with a broom, its rather human-like face contorting into horror as it spat out the prune and pranced down a corridor, its long striped tail high in the air.

Somewhere in an adjoining chamber a string instrument was being played, accompanied by a sultry melancholy song in a feminine voice, at the same time, something was hitting against the opposite wall and I heard indecent sounds, likely of a man. Then, just as loud, the clatter of pots and pans falling followed by a bestial shriek as the monkey was being held by the tail, swinging back and forth over the simmering pot like the pendulum of the clock. The courtesans were half arguing half pleading with the old woman and I could see the elaborate pattern designs of their long sleeves. The monkey curled up its body and by a foolish instinct sunk its teeth into the old woman’s hand. I looked away, anticipating the screams that broke out.

The youth grinned at me, as if interested in see a reaction out of me, and in disappointment, pushed his nose up with his finger and raised his chin as he pretended to scowl and pout in mocking imitation of a snooty overly-serious man – me, I suppose.

What was I supposed to think? It felt like a strange dream from which I soon hoped to awaken -- only I knew that was not possible.

At last the argument subsided and I could tell that the man was not too pleased. He sat by the fireplace, his teeth tearing into a mangy joint of meet. From time to time he looked at me with something of a threat or a warning. The boy seemed to notice this and stuck out his tongue at him before closing the door. I caught a glimpse of particular ferocity in the man’s eyes before the view of him was obscured from me. The children giggled, licking the sugary syrup from their fingers as they finished off the rest of my sweets.

Not satisfied with this, the boy boldly reached into my pocket and found the last three energy bars that I had stolen. I tried to snatch them back but he scampered away like a chimpanzee. I was about to rise when the old woman pushed open the door and set down three bowls of vegetable stew, closing the door behind her with a curt bow. From behind her I could glimpse the painted woman cradling a bundle from which a long dripping tail protruded, murmuring nonsense.

We all ate ravenously until the bowls were clean.

It was dark outside and so they two teenagers set to lighting oil lamps. I laid down upon the old rug like a dog and rested my head on the flat cushion that had served as my seat, not knowing what other arrangements an unwelcome guest was to hope for. The teenagers showed no sign of going to sleep, sitting by the boudoir and applying a white paste to their faces, passing the jar back and forth between them. Then, they painted a red dot upon their lower lip and put stiff wigs of stark white hair upon their heads. I felt strange watching these dressing rituals, as if I were intruding upon something not entirely decent, and so I closed my eyes, hearing the rustling of fabric and more twittering giggles. I opened my eyes suddenly, feeling cold hands clap me on both ears.

Two identical chalky painted faces stared down at me and I knew that if I awoke from sleep to this sight I would have likely screamed out, much to my embarrassment. However, from the giggling I was prepared for something of the sort and so I merely sighed as a mark of annoyance that my sleep should be disturbed. They would not leave me be however, pulling at my sleeve to get up. I did so, not knowing what else to do. Each of them turned their backs to me holding a long strip of white fabric that I was apparently supposed to tie around the waist of their crimson robes. I did so as best as I could manage and went to lay down. Again they pulled at my sleeve.

A man with a pointed black beard and fez opened the door unexpectedly, yelled something at them, then noticing me, made a gesture of putting something invisible in his hand which I did not understand. The twins shook their heads in unison. More yelling, and then they grabbed me by both arms and pulled me out the door after the man. I was really at a loss, but before I could make up my mind, we were all shoved into a cramped wooden carriage drawn by a large black beast similar to an oxen, at odds with the shabbiness of the hut which we had just left behind. I looked out the window at the cloud of dust and the light coming from the hut, the silhouette of the old woman, then back at the twins.

There was man with a pockmarked face lying snoring between us, one arm curling around my boot. I tried to disentangle myself, but he kept a firm hold. I did not know if he was actually sleeping or only feigning to. The boy patted my knee as if telling me to relax already and then stuck out his tongue.

The cart rolled on and on, rocking with the uneven ground. For some reason I did not feel afraid anymore, too tired to care what happened to me. There, too, was a certain morbid curiosity that made me want to see what would happen if I submitted to wherever it was that my fate was carrying me towards.

I belonged to nowhere and to nothing, and so I was neither closer nor further to anything that mattered. What bothered me most in my present state, I realized, was having no goal to work towards, no master to serve, so that my existence had no purpose – within the First Order, I had learned that I would survive for as long as I made myself useful. Yet here I was carried from place to place by both my foolish will and lack of resolve. At some point I must choose an objective, I decided, rather than drifting upon the unknown motives of others or leaving all to chance. It was a most inconvenient time to arrive at such a conclusion, as I felt myself trapped within yet another cramped cabin. It seemed that everyone there was asleep except me.


	5. Two Murders and a Farce

We alighted at what looked like a back entrance, ascending a narrow staircase from which I could see the wooden floorboards of a stage. A couple of men leaning against the wall looked at us and I could smell cheap tobacco. I heard the man pushing me onward call out and one of the two idlers grabbed me by the arm. I took him down without much effort, although narrowly dodging a punch from his friend. I was not prepared for a third attacker, however, who joined the fray from out of some kind of hidden compartment in the wall, opening like a laundry chute. Thin but powerful arms gripped me by the leg, pulling me into the compartment, the sharp edge of which dragged painfully against my chest. I heard chuckling and then the turning of a gear as the platform descended, myself pushed against a scrawny man about my height who glared at me defiantly through narrow eyes. I debated whether or not to stab him there and then but we were both too uncomfortably contorted to make much movement possible. When the miniature elevator stopped, the man started shoving my body out roughly until we were both tumbled onto the floor of some kind of backstage room where men and women were in various states of undress, frantically scrambling to put on their garish robes as in some poorly managed evacuation a circus.

I had no interest in partaking in whatever charade these people had in store for me so I gathered myself onto my feet and tried to wander away towards the nearest door, giving my scrawny friend a forceful kick to the face. But the man would not give up so easily, despite his bleeding nose, he grabbed hold of my ankle and began screaming for help.

A large bullish figure with a nose like a potato took me by the collar of my shirt and proceeded to tear it in two. I was too shocked to react as quickly as I would have liked to, nor was there a clear exit in sight. By then many of these people were looking at us, mostly with an expression of mild amusement, and I hoped that this meant that no serious harm would come to me. Why I assumed this I could not tell, having little time to ponder further as a coarse woolen smock was pulled over my head. Then, a short heavy-set woman in a black off-centered wig skidded towards me and began fussing with the hem of the robe. Distracted by swatting her away, I felt the air pushed out of me as a tight broad length of fabric was tied around my waist by two muscular arms.

This was the extent of my preparations before I was shoved onto the stage.

Blazing white light blinded me for a moment, followed by a gong which silenced the vehement chattering of the audience. Upon the stage I saw a low table surrounded by cushions. There again was the wigged woman, whose face then reminded me distinctly of a tortoise. She told me to sit. I did so, hoping this would give me time to think. I observed that there was a second row of large silk screens which changed color with the scenes, or by some other cause which would soon become apparent to me.

The tortoise woman shuffled behind the screen and returned with a tray occupied by three bowls, setting down the first two carefully upon the table and overturning the third onto my lap. I leapt up as scalding water scorched my knee, unable to suppress my pain. The audience burst into laughter at my agonies and I shoved the woman aside as I prepared to depart from the stage, feeling foolish to have allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of safety. Not missing a queue, the ‘strongman’ appeared, dressed in a black robe and a fake long dark beard, cutting an intimidating figure with a glistening curved sword at his side with which he blocked my way. Reluctantly, I returned to my assigned seat, gritting my teeth as I tried to keep my hand from hovering close to my dagger – not yet. The back row of screens cast a blue light upon us.

He started saying something to me, while another man walked across the stage, tall and bespectacled, which I recognized as the personage who dragged me there through the ‘laundry chute’. He wore a vermillion suit with velvet lapels and disappeared behind the screen with the woman. I pretended to listen to the black-beard, understanding nothing. The audience burst into laughter and I heard the screen tremble somewhat.

I was about to turn my head by the sword sprang out and the man across from me shot me a terrible look, at which the laughter only increased. The back row of screens turned black. Lowering the sword, he replaced it in a slot at his belt, speaking to me in a more ferocious tone which made me rather nervous. He leaned close such that I could feel his spit on my face when he talked, pointing at his palm. I was beginning to suspect what he might mean, my doubts removed when he began saying the word for money in various dialects, some of which I was able to recognize. Before I could make answer, the screen behind us, as well as two entangled bodies, fell upon my back and hit my ‘debt collector’ on the head, possibly knocking him out.

I saw this as my opportunity. But before I could pull myself out, I felt something restraining me and then a hand reaching up my robe, parting me from my wallet. I grabbed the man’s scrawny wrist and he made a piercing scream. I heard the strongman being to shuffle, his nostrils heaving and blood dripping from his lower lip. I settled for kicking the thief in the face and snatching back the wallet before jumping off the stage. But the audience was a most loyal one and would not have it, for those in the front row hoisted me back up onto the platform.

I was surprised to see that there was no sign of the table, screen, or any of the other ‘actors’. Then I saw the figures of the girl and boy appear upon the stage, in three sets each carrying a swaddled bundle in their hands. Another six maids appeared bearing what I took to be crying babies. I could not tell which of these, if any, were the acquaintances I had made but I was inclined to accept a shrieking infant from no one.

Nevertheless, I was surrounded on all sides. When I looked at the audience, they seemed to have settled back in their seats and looked at me expectantly.

I did not know how much more I could bear of this low comedy show, or whatever it was. Perhaps the more willingly I cooperated, the sooner it would all be over. In part I regretted losing my temper and trying to stab someone on the stage, indeed it sounded ridiculous in hindsight, and I knew that the sleep deprivation and constant stress of my journey was taking its toll upon my reason. I was not entirely sure what was expected of me but at last I decided to pick up one of the babies, taking it at random from the outstretched pleading hands of the little maids.

When I looked down at the wailing baby, whose voice was oddly low and masculine when I singled it out from the others, I noticed that it had a golden ring pierced into its lip with the ensign of a stylized eye. In that moment I recognized the man through the plaster-like makeup, distant memories flashing through my mind. The dwarfish creature had been one of the boys of my unpleasant childhood, the one who had discovered my secret deformity and used it to taunt me. 

My father had hoped to protect me from such things, or rather, himself, by giving me a key to the shared bathing facilities so that I could go there alone, locking the door after myself so that none should enter. Most boys took this as a special distinction which at various times served to heighten my authority, while decreasing their personal goodwill towards me – further marking me out as an undeserving outsider.

On the other hand, the dwarfish boy, despite his appearance, had risen to popularity with the feral youths by his antics, often at the expense of the younger children. Our life was difficult and grim, and so anything that could rouse laughter and make us forget was cherished, whether consciously or not. I did not suspect anything at the time, blaming myself for having lost the key and too afraid to go to my father – hoping to avoid, or rather, postpone my punishment.

And so I waited until it was late in the night to shower, slipping quietly out of bed. I did not hear him follow me, and when he made his presence known, I tried to hide myself quickly but it was too late. He had seen my body. Soon the news spread, in little time reaching the ears of my father, and worse still, although I did not know it at the time, those of Pryde. It was not long after this incident that he seemed to take an unwarranted interest in me. At first, I confess that I enjoyed his attentions, which were kind and almost paternal. He would take me on long solitary walks with him away from the main camp, asking me strange questions the importance of which I did not fully understand, yet by some sense I knew to say nothing of these excursions or conversations to my father. He did notice, inevitably, and I believe he must have spoken to Pryde, for his behavior towards me took a significant turn – emulating my father’s and then surpassing it in outward cruelty. Yet he did not completely forsake his old ways, leaving me puzzled as to his feelings. He threatened me into silence, but there was no need truly, for I too feared the same consequences that he did, although I saw them but vaguely and subconsciously – our secret shame. I think it was on purpose that he tried to have himself stationed elsewhere, and that in itself came to mean for me a certain depth of feeling. I never forgot him, nor did he forget me. And yet, I wish these things had never come to pass, of which I dare not speak of nor set down on record in any candid form. I trace them all to the malice of Arinsor, whose face seemed almost unchanged as I looked down upon it.

A red light fell upon us from the back row of screens, at which the audience and the actors all seemed confused, a hushed tension falling over the gathered multitude. The bald dwarfish man whom I held realized that something was wrong and stopped waiting, cautiously peering open one eye, and then the other. I could see the poorly shaved stubble on his chin.

“Hux,” he breathed, eyes wide. He could see from my fixed expression, my firm grasp upon him, that I had not forgotten and that my nature has never been one to forgive. We were both transfixed when suddenly I felt the fleshy body being torn from my hands. It was the youth, he from the spider-legged vehicle and the thatched hut. Nimble and determined, he drew a dagger and stabbed Arinsor with a dagger which he drew from the inner folds of his robe, my enemy unable to move due to the tight swaddling of his limbs. The audience and the actors stared in horror and some of the maids whimpered and ran away off the stage. In the chaos and disorder, only the black-beard seemed unmoved. He strode towards us and with the same kind of unemotional resolve as the youth and beheaded the young man with the sword. The curtains began to fall and the audience dispersed like wild animals fleeing from a fire. 


	6. The Fisherman's Vow

My heart was pounding in my chest as I ran through the streets, a searing pain coursing through my arm. The harelip girl’s hands clutched mine tightly as her face streamed with tears, smearing the white makeup. Horrible images still flashed through my mind, worst of all the unnecessary death of the youth which I could not at all comprehend. What motive had he pry the accursed man-child from me and slay him?

We kept running until I saw a man outside of a cluttered-looking shop in the process of locking up. The street was deserted and I made use of this opportunity. I threatened him to open the door and allow us inside, leaving him little choice but to oblige. The shop was filled with overflowing mounds of tattered books, a pile of which slid onto the floor as the man tumbled over them in his haste to make way for us.

The shopkeeper had a long snout-like face like an aardvark and skin the color of ebony. I recognized his kind and made a clicking sound with my tongue, to which he was responsive, greeting me in a manner like morse code, which the girl apparently found amusing as she listened to our exchange, for a moment forgetting the terrible things that had so recently occurred. I requested that he find us a book of translations for the tongue of the girl and my own. I watched him all the while, in case he should attempt some trickery, but he returned promptly enough with the book.

We locked the door of the shop and turned off the lights except for a solitary dim lamp which illuminated a corner of the shop obscured from the window. We sat three gloomily around the book and slowly began to make ourselves understood. The shopkeeper grew visibly at ease as he too listened to our labored conversation. I asked the girl why her companion took upon himself the deed which led to his death and how he knew that I would not allow the creature to pass from my eyes alive – that I would have done what he done, had the youth not been so swift to action.

The girl explained to me that the light of the screens signed to all the actors and audience that an emotion of profound wrath and hatred was felt by one upon the stage, such a feeling as would never pass from his or her heart. The youth had felt it his moral duty to slay the man as soon as he perceived that it was I who pined for revenge. I had saved the life of his sister and by doing what I must do, he hoped to save me from the deed’s punishment and keep my hands clean of the stain of the creature’s blood. 

We sat in silence for some time and then I spoke. I considered these unnecessary acts and found that I was struck by something like admiration, that there were those who were so deeply bound by their morals to give their life for them. Perhaps in a low and worthless state I too would not prize my life highly and would be glad to part with it for any passably worthy excuse. Indeed that was my case, or so I felt that night. I searched for the words and then made my vow. Solemnly I explained to the girl that I owed a mortal debt to her brother whose life was taken on my behalf. She considered my offer and did not hesitate to make her request.

She and her brother were bound to the ‘theater’ master and when she came of age she must take on other duties, such as those of her ‘sisters’ under the roof of the thatched house. The girl hoped to run away but there was little chance of doing so successfully, for his agents were many and her resources were few. The only way was to pay the price of her freedom, and she scrawled down a sum. I had no money I explained but I was willing to attempt to find her enemies and do what I could to do away with them. This she would not accept, doubting that it was possible, instead she told me that she would find one who would pay for my labors, if I was willing to serve for the term of a year. It was hard but honest work, and if she were a man she would take it upon herself. I gave my consent and on these terms we parted. The shopkeeper of course had to be silenced.

...

I took my place in a row of men lined up along the length of the fishing dock, most looking scrawny and malnourished such that I was not out of place amid their ranks. An old man in a dusty gray suit walked back and forth examining us, smacking the legs of one or two with a reed cane or forcing his yellow fingernails inside of someone’s mouth to check his teeth. With little further ceremony, he made his selection by hitting the chosen man’s shoulder with the cane, at which he would remove himself from the ranks and step into the old man’s boat.

Then another man’s boat approached and he too went through a similar ritual. The sun was beginning to set but many boats and many slaves still remained to choose from. At last my turn came.

...

The sun scorched down upon my back as I pulled in the net, untangling the strange black crustaceans which clung to it. I was careful to avoid the red hairs upon their backs, for these left an unpleasant burning sensation something like poison ivy, however it was impossible to avoid them altogether and I knew that in time I would get used to it. The work was monotonous and hard, many times I had considered deserting but the naive vow I had made had filled me with a sense of honor. I decided to cling to it in the interim as I sought after occupation far removed from my days in the First Order. Perhaps too, I am embarrassed to admit, I had grown to feel something of sentiment towards the siblings whose path had crossed mine.

As I labored I would console myself with imaginings that I would return to the city where the harelip girl worked and take her under my guardianship and possibly wed her after she came of age. Her name was Ohara, so she told me before we parted. I do not know much of her character and her appearance is unpleasant to behold, and so I wonder sometimes at these matrimonial intentions. Maybe it is her very deformity that gives me confidence that she might not reject mine. Maybe my mind is growing unsettled, lured by some modest form of domestic comfort which I have heard of from literature confiscated from the belongings of prisoners while I was still a general. These peculiar romances, children’s stories, and engineering manuals I would occasionally read to help me sleep, and to this day I recall their contents before retiring to bed amid other foolish nonsense. In any case, I will pay the girl’s debts and hope that I will continue to find these ideals towards this hideous young lady oddly uplifting for the next eleven months. This entry will need to be revised as I would feel ridiculous if anyone should read it. In the meantime, I set down all of my thoughts as they are to keep me in what I hope is an exiled man’s sanity.

...

We were forced to fish in all weathers, whether by use of nets, rods or by diving from the docks. The catches of the day would all be hauled into a makeshift warehouse to be sorted by the women, most of them unmarried or widows from the village. At times I had seen my comrades attempt to make advances but the ship master was ever vigilant when we were all gathered to help with the sorting.

We all knew who was responsible when one of these fishwives was with child but none spoke. Perhaps the shipmaster knew likewise, but whipped the lot of us just the same, for by some code of honor that I dared not to defy, none of the fishermen gave away their comrade, whose bed lay empty for many a night. 

...

We were given food and board, and this sufficed for me while I tried to figure out what I would do with myself after I had earned enough to pay the sum owed, the appeal of my union with the harelip girl somewhat waning during that week as I witnessed the beheading of my comrade who had set his eyes upon the widow with striking black hair, full lips and a somewhat misshapen nose. Even in her fiery temper she reminded me of Ren. Somehow it amused me to watch her curse as she cut up the fish with the others, the baby wailing in a basket at her feet. She developed some manner of illness shortly after the birth and died within a week.

...

I was perceived as antisocial by the other men, but I was one among several such characters and so did not warrant special notice. Most there had a morose and somber air about them, doing their work diligently and quietly, the other kind did not last long, leaving one day without giving notice. The shipmaster would have them hunted and hanged, never forgoing to make an example of deserters. In most matters, he was usually strict but just, and seemed not to take pleasure in doling out punishment, which is the temptation of many men who come to power over the broken-willed. For the most part, the fishermen respected him and did what they were told.

So the months passed and three more remained.

...

I remember the morning when a strange creature was brought in by a truck, it was housed in a glass container several meters tall. It seemed to have some kind of translucent skeleton but its body moved amorphously within the algae-filled aquarium, having no apparent head or limbs. It would sometimes stretch out over the edge of the tank, at which time the guard that was stationed to watch it would sting it with a tazer tied to a long wooden rod. We would take turns standing guard and I did not mind this duty, listening to the peculiar low humming that the creature emitted.

I wondered if it had the same effect upon the other men, I did not venture to ask, but for me it seemed to soothe my nerves. At first I thought that I was only imagining things, but after several shifts of guard duty I could no longer deny its influence. It was almost intoxicating and I wondered if it was diffusing some kind of poison that was intended to distract its captors. Only it did not make any particular efforts to escape, apparently having learned the sting of the tazers long ago.

It was a most embarrassing incident when the others found me lying on the ground in front of the tank in a stupor. They thought I was drunk and carried me to my bed. On the following night I developed a fever and did not rise for several days. The fishermen avoided me and I was quarantined into a storage room, none wishing for a contagious illness to spread and thereby threaten their already precarious livelihood. Strange humiliating details were spread about me, which I was likely the last to learn of, finding out in the end that they were true when what I thought were dreams had gone a little too far.

As the illness endured, the shipmaster debated what to do with me. A doctor was brought in, who made scans of my stomach and put me under anesthesia as he removed a gelatinous looking cube from my innards which I recognized from the elaborate dinner served to me onboard the first class cabin.

I realized then that it was likely the same sort of creature as that which we were holding captive in the tank, and that this was probably why it had singled me out among the other fishermen as one in need of soothing and indecent visions. I was told that this medical visit would come out of my annual salary.

...

They had me return to work with the gash in my stomach hardly healed. I did what I could to keep myself intact and avoid infection. In the evening I returned to the tank where the creature floated, learning that in a few weeks a buyer would come to take it onboard his ship for processing. I threw the gelatinous fragment with the evening feed and watched as it engulfed its mate with an avidity that, in its despondent state, it had yet to show towards dried sardines.

I hoped that the match was a suitable one and conclude there my involvement in matters of the heart. On the following days I found my digestion much improved.

...

I left my trade early in the morning, wondering if I shall ever fully wash away the stench of fish entrails from my body.

Red and black gulls circled in the air over the steamboat that carried me and two others whose contract had ended around the same time. Although we had worked alongside each other for nearly a year, it seemed that our relations would go no further, finding little to talk about – it seemed that each of us was equally secretive and reserved about our future plans and so did what we could to enjoy what passed for tea and small talk.

At last the boat reached the shore and a crush of people gathered to disembark. I felt oddly despondent that no one was there to greet me, although how I could have expected otherwise is incomprehensible – as if the harelip girl should know by telepathic powers that I have come carrying the price of her freedom. I followed the directions she had inscribed for me to make my way back to the thatch house where I hoped she and her family still dwelt – wondering what kind of reception the father would give me and if the old woman still lived. On my way there I went to a bathhouse to bathe properly and purchased a clean formal coat, pants and tunic that reminded me of my First Order uniform. A new pair of boots and gloves would not go amiss. When I saw the complete ensemble I somewhat regretted the resemblance to the past which I should have stopped myself from recreating. I suppose after decades of wearing the same sort of thing it is difficult to feel like oneself in anything else. I sighed, wondering if I would ever find something like a dignified routine. It was a reasonable enough ambition surely.

During those long months ideas had returned to me which I had originally swore never to give consideration, mainly, the profit to be made in selling some of the designs for weapons and war ships that I had developed while serving Supreme Leader Snoke – perhaps those were the happiest days of my life, when my capabilities were recognized and valued. And then it all went rather downhill when Ren was dragged from who knows where. Again I break my rule of not wasting time on futile memories.

...

I have been an unimaginable fool and am not sure if I should even set down the extent of my humiliation. The wretch took my year’s worth of suffering and for some contrived excuses, rejected my proposal. The harelip woman told me that she wishes to remain to serve her family and can have no other master but her father, who would not allow a union between her and one responsible for the death of his only son. Having purchased a translation device, I was able to protest intelligibly in the local dialect that he is a loathsome creature for selling his children to what is, to put it bluntly, a brothel – living off of their profits and then denying his daughter the opportunity of a better life. He attempted to behead me, reminding me tragically of his son, and there ended our interview.

In hindsight perhaps burning down their home was not in line with the noble intentions that had carried me there but I panicked. What’s done is done. Never again will I show my face in that lowly village.

It is not only my injured pride but the general consensus among the menfolk that I must be made to pay that has driven me into hiding. The smell and taste of fish is despicable to me and yet the two cans that I have kept with me may perhaps be my last supper, all that will sustain me as I wait out the night. From a distance I could see them marching through the streets with flaming torches and an assortment of bootleg weapons.

It has inevitably begun to rain and the boots which I purchased are of shoddy quality.


	7. Parting the Tide at Six O'Clock

So it followed that they captured and locked me naked in a cage in a distant town miles from the village, poised upon some kind of raised dais that drew some concern from me as to whether or not I might soon be sacrificed to a primeval deity, or else a half-domesticated monstrosity who whose hunger must be appeased. The character and haggard appearance of my travelling companions onboard the transport ship, mostly poultry, did not reassure me. 

Yet none of these dramatic things came to pass, instead, I was left to sit there in the cold for the entire night staring at my earthenware bowl of water, the shingles of the surrounding houses, and the querulous birds who flew around windows where there was a light. It was the latter which occupied my interest, the windows I mean, for the birds were not quite so foolish as to come near the cage, nor I so desperate yet as to try and catch them for sustenance, despite my generally grim outlook to my future. The pleasures of voyeurism into scenes of domestic bliss, dull old age, and rather mediocre flute playing were enough to distract me until I was sufficiently tired to fall asleep, awaking with an inevitably sore back and possibly hypothermia.

In the morning, the cobblestone streets surrounding me became animated with people and carts going about their business. By careful eavesdropping I learned that I would have to wait there for three days and three nights before Father Tibernnious arrived to decide whether I was worthy of mercy. With little to recommend me, save for my ability to feign repentance and eternal servitude, I decided to postpone making any estimates on how my judgement day would go, instead focusing my wiles upon a certain street urchin who had taken an interest in me and might perhaps be persuaded to be of use.

Little did I know that some protective veil would be lifted that evening, allowing one and all to use me for target practice – as if suddenly becoming aware of one who was worthy of all kinds of petty abuse. A lively gathering formed about me as soon as the clock tower struck six, reaching the height of its density after what I presume were regular working hours.

With vehemence, the evils of the world were spat at me from various quarters and in diverse tongues, translated for me by the device still implanted into my earlobe since my unfortunate attempt at courtship. The urchin, I am disappointed to say, was far from being useless, taking a leadership position in the assault, casting clumps of weeds and mud from a bucket with commendable aim.

The following day was just like the last, perhaps slightly worse, and then came the third day – which, I regret to say, I had grown to look forward to – faint from hunger and stiff limbed. I gazed through the metal bars of the cage, feeling like an animal at a circus as crowds of passerbys gathered round. Some of them came prepared with things to throw, for clearly this was not an uncommon occurrence – raised upon a wooden platform, my cage stood there like a magnet for local hooligans, drunkards and men out of work, and disgruntled housewives to jeer at.

I winced in pain as an empty bottle hit me in the arm, just passing through the bars and shattering from the impact. This awoke me to the need to stay alert; it was no time to wallow in self-pity and glower in contempt at the unwashed masses. I did my best to shift about in the confined space, yet me dodging the rotten vegetables and street debris seemed only to provoke them further.

While many were more than willing to rise to the challenge, an uncanny hush suddenly fell over the idle bloodthirsty lot, parting like the sea before a venerable looking man in somber black robes. Before him two cherubim-faced boys carried staves which they shook heartily, releasing a pungent odor which would have disturbed my asthmatic nostrils if they were not already half-stuffed with clotted blood from a well aimed potato and the cold under which I have been oppressed for at least a week.

The wealth of my experience had granted me with the gift of callous indifference towards matters beyond my control, somewhat like that of the fabled djinn who despite being ensnared for centuries, had little doubt that their prodigal patience and their master’s stupidity would in time combine to give them the upper hand.

And so I looked on at this procession as it approached me with as languid and dignified an air as I could assume. The priestly man stepped forth, raising his arms to on high and speaking slowly in a low impressive voice, as if chanting a prophecy of great portent.

I raised a brow and listened, leaning closer to the bars, and hearing something about a fiery plague dog and the orange groves of the blessed. In any case, it all led to me being paraded through the streets in white linen robes amid ruckus clanging, more noxious odors and dumpy boys in conical hats surrounded by the general rejoicing of the multitude.

How quickly turn the tides of public opinion.

...

I was led through the dark halls of a cloister and then down a narrow stone staircase which led to the communal baths. They were empty except for a lonesome looking man with a timorous gaze and broad forehead over which greasy brown hair fell in limp strands. He rose at once, nearly overturning the bucket over which he slumped, taking on a respectful if not sycophantic air. Upon further acquaintance, I found that Brother Horgalthin’s ambitions reached as far as to avoid punishment, and little further, being docile, submissive and impressionable by nature.

Before they subdued me with ceremonial poisons and branded my arm with the ensign of their cult, I remember a moldy lion-headed tap and a large stone basin which filled quickly with steaming water. Horgalthin scrubbed my skin raw with a coarse bristled brush betters suited to the underside of a boot. It was only when the Father had left that I could prevail upon him to stop. He brought me a bowl of oranges and half a loaf of bread which we shared between us. I asked him questions and he gave me half-satisfactory answers. 


	8. The Inquisition of the Master Craftsman

Part 2: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/22465897/chapters/53679613>

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, comments are always welcome.


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